


(caught) in a lie

by RascalJoy (DarkQuill)



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angry Birds, Angst, Back Hugs, Dick is upset, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jason is kinda upset, Jason is the receiver of the cuddles but Dick is the one being comforted, big bro bonding, for multiple reasons but you can bet Bruce is one of them, for unspecified reasons, ish, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28064805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkQuill/pseuds/RascalJoy
Summary: “You okay, Goldie?”“Mmmhmm,” came the careful answering hum.“You sure?”“Mmmhmmm.”Jason paused.  “So if I turn around right now there won’t be tears streaming from your dazzling blue eyes?”“Mmmhmmmm.”Jason glanced over his shoulder, past the curtain of wavy dark hair to the face pressed against his trapezius.  “Liar.”(In which Jason is hiding but Dick seeks him out anyway.)
Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 317





	(caught) in a lie

**Author's Note:**

> Cross posted from Fanfiction.net.
> 
> Me: Doesn’t write two words of a story for nine months straight.
> 
> Also me: Writing brain cranks into gear out of literally nowhere, writes 1523 words in under two hours, skips a day, finishes and edits the rest in another two hours, waits another day to actually post because of adult job and also general confusion as to what just happened.
> 
> I...don’t...?
> 
> Anyway. Concept loosely based on real life events. Also, from Jason’s POV ‘cause it just felt right. Title from "Lie" by BTS' Jimin; that, plus "Abyss" by Jin being recommended listening music and really any of BTS' vocal line's mixtapes/solos, as that's what I listened to while writing for anyone who likes to listen and read. This Dick Grayson & Jason Todd playlist works, too: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2JNbcEiJdU7rYYgsrIPT4O
> 
> Enjoy!

Jason was sitting on some back stairwell in the Manor he was fairly certain no one knew about. Fairly sure. They’d all spent too much time exploring this monstrous excuse of a “home” in their abundance of neglected-by-Bruce time. So someone probably knew about it. Definitely knew about it if the yellowed old circus poster and faded sketchbook shoved clumsily into the rickety window frame to his right was anything to go by.

The point was, even if they did, the amount of dust spoke to a stairwell empty enough to be passed over by even Alfred’s painstaking cleaning circuits. Which was to say, it hadn’t been touched in at least the last month.

It wasn’t like Jason was hiding or anything. Well…maybe from Bruce.

He paused his game, considering.

Yeah, just Bruce. While the rest of the family weren’t necessarily on his good side, they were for the most part on neutral ground at the moment. Patrols had been fine with the exception of that one night he’d used a few too many explosives and an uninformed Robin that wasn’t even supposed to be there had almost become collateral.

It was totally unfair Jason got the short end of the stick on the lecture because he was the “adult” who “should know better.” It wasn’t his fault demon brat broke curfew and followed him. It was Damian’s own dumb decision—which ended with a couple light scratches rather than a body bag. No actual harm done.

Anyway.

Jason had promised Alfred he’d come visit, not that grumpy old furry. Which is how he ended up in this stuffy old stairwell in the first place. Dear Brucie arrived home from some meeting or whatever hours before expected. Obviously, the only logical decision at that point was to duck and cover rather than chance being spotted in his house.

…But also all convenient exits had been blocked either by Bruce himself or by nosy sort-of-not-actually-but-kind-of-legally siblings.

Wait. Had Bruce actually ever grown a pair and adopted Dick…?

Whatever. Jason couldn’t keep track anymore.

He sniffed, annoyed. Which proved to be a mistake as every single fleck of dust in the vicinity flew into his nose and immediately tickled back in his sinuses.

“ _Acchhkk_ ,” he sneezed, just managing to wedge a finger under his nostrils to prevent stirring up even more errant dead skin cells and start the cycle all over again.

He sniffled again more carefully; rubbed harshly at the end of his nose to dispel the remaining itchiness.

“This is so dumb,” he grumbled. For the benefit of no one but himself and the spiders in the wall.

Jason turned back to his game, frowning in concentration as he angled the relatable-y grumpy red bird on his screen juuuuuuust right to snipe the TNT at the base of the furthest tower. The domino effect would demolish the whole screen and maybe finally _finally_ get him the three stars he needed to beat his stupid replacement.

Dumbest bet he’d ever been dragged into, honestly. But here he was passing time, so why not hide, de-stress, and win fifty bucks off Drake at the same time? Multi-tasking at its finest, if he did say so himself.

 _Creeeeeaaak_.

Jason’s finger skipped in surprise. The bird squawked off straight up in the air and landed harmlessly between two of the crate towers.

The pigs snorted in mocking laughter.

Jason swore. So much for staking out in peace and quiet until Bruce left for patrol. “This better be good, a—hole. I just lost fifty bucks ‘cause of you.”

No answer.

 _Creak_.

 _Creak_.

 _Creak_.

 _Thwump_.

A warm weight settled on the stair behind Jason, tanned arms circling around his neck and a head burying itself into the hollow above his shoulder blade.

Okaaaaay. He’d allow it. For now…

Jason restarted the level. “That can’t be comfy,” he commented as the uncharacteristic silence stretched on longer than a minute. Not because he cared, obviously, just to…make conversation, or something.

“Mmmmm,” the lump replied.

“Like, that’s all muscle and bone back there. No cushion material.”  
  
“Mmmmm.”

Jason hummed sarcastically in reply, focusing his attention back to the potential key to a week’s worth of takeout. And to wipe the smug grins off those idiotic pigs’ faces.

Slow, measured breathing echoed in his ear, muffled by the fabric of Jason’s shirt.

Almost too careful.

And Jason wasn’t worried. Of course he wasn’t. Everyone had the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness here. The keyword being the “pursuit” of happiness, which indirectly implied the right to backslide every once in awhile. Jason wasn’t delusional—not entirely. No one was happy one hundred percent of the time. It was unrealistic.

But as the silence stretched onward with only the tinny screeching of birds, crashing of wood, and dying screams of pigs to break it up, Jason couldn’t stop the flicker of not-concern in his chest.

Because in his experience, a quiet Dick Grayson was never a mentally stable one.

“Tim and I have a bet,” Jason blurted, almost not of his own volition. Because unlike _some_ people he didn’t _need_ to have mindless chatter filling every single moment of his day.

“Mmmm?”

Jason took that as a ‘go ahead.’ “First one to get three stars on every level of the OG Angry Birds gets fifty bucks.”

“Mmmm.”

“If Drake wins, he gets to borrow my motorcycle for a night.”

“Mmmmmm.” That one at least sounded a bit surprised.

“And if I win, Drake gives me all the blackmail material he has on me from a week period of my choosing.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Aahhh, an extra syllable. Progress.

“So far, I’m ahead,” Jason continued. “But only by like, two levels. Pretender’s got a surprising amount of game for someone with zero free time.”

“Mmmmmmmm.”

“Why such high stakes, you ask?”— _he didn’t_ —“Because I made all that up. Mostly. It’s just fifty bucks. We actually have a running black book of games to crush, and that’s the ultimate prize for whoever finishes first.”

“Mmmmmmmmm.” Then, “‘Mpressive.”

Something in Jason’s chest eased. “About time,” he quipped, “was beginning to think you were possessed by Bruce with all that ‘ _hnn_ ’-ing.”

He was rewarded with a snort of not-quite laughter.

But. No comments on the fact Tim and Jason were engaging in normal, brotherly competition? No cooing over ‘how cute’ his little brothers were when they ‘bonded’? No whining about being excluded and demanding to be added to the bet? No amazement that the original Angry Birds was still on their phones when it wasn’t even purchasable anymore? No cracking up at how effing ridiculous literally everything Jason had just admitted to was?

The silence stretched onwards. Not exactly uncomfortable. Just…weighted.

Dick remained completely still, warmth leeching into Jason’s skin from where he was literally flopped against him. Not twitching. Just steadily breathing.

Jason shifted a little so his elbows rested on a different spot of his thighs as they started to go tingly from lack of circulation.

Damp fabric rubbed against his back.

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed of their own accord.

“Hey,” he prompted, jostling his shoulder a little before he could stop himself. “You okay, Goldie?”

“Mmmhmm,” came the careful answering hum.

“You sure?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

Jason paused. “So if I turn around right now there won’t be tears streaming from your dazzling blue eyes?”

“Mmmhmmmm.”

Jason glanced over his shoulder, past the curtain of wavy dark hair to the face pressed against his trapezius. “Liar.”

The corner of Dick’s mouth quirked beneath closed eyelids that were doing absolutely nothing to block the flow of liquid leaking down his cheeks. “Oops.”

A twist of discomfort coiled in Jason’s gut and he turned back to his game, suddenly minor-ly less interested in actually accomplishing anything and more giving himself something else to focus on.

Damned emotions. This whole feelings gig was Dick’s schtick. He was the one who stepped in when the fam got messy and smoothed things over. A role Jason always found ironic considering how anti-family Dick was back in Jason’s own Robin days, but a role that older, more mature Dick Grayson had grown into quite well. Not that Jason would ever admit that to the man’s face.

Sorting out feelings in a healthy manner was Dick’s job. Jason was only good for venting in the form of bashing in brains. No chitter chatter. Just petty pounding.

Which. Actually, come to think of it, who did Dick go to when his feelings got messy?

Not one of his bajillion hero friends, but Jason, apparently.

The angry one. The emotional wreck. The one who felt too much and had yet to learn to process that in a way that didn’t involve busting heads or property damage. Or both.

Jason didn’t talk about feelings. Like. Ever. Listened, maybe. A wall to bounce off thoughts. But proper discussion was way out of his gun closet.

Which….

Might actually be the point.

Because why else would Dick choose Jason over literally any of the semi-more-emotionally-competent people he’d surrounded himself with? If he wanted to talk, there were probably thirty people ready and willing to comfort their precious golden boy just in his most recent contacts.

But…also…

“Want to talk about it?” Jason offered, gruff. Hesitant, which he cursed himself for. Because he had to. Dick deserved that much after putting up with all his baggage over the years. Even if Jason was seriously unqualified and couldn’t talk his way out of a paper—

“Not really.”

Jason released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fine by me.”

A pause.

“If that changes, let me know.” What was this feeling and why was it making him say things? Obligation? Concern? “But maybe find someone else first, ‘cause I am literally the worst choice for emotional processing in all categories.”

He felt Dick’s cheek shift in a smile. “Not that bad.”

“You’re right,” Jason agreed. “I’m worse. Ask Roy.”

He was granted a soft huff of laughter, the arms around his neck squeezing a little bit tighter.

This time, the silence was a little less heavy. Not light. Just less heavy. There was a difference.

The last bird in the queue careened into its target and Jason allowed a soft victory hiss to escape his lips. _Finally_.

However, within minutes of that accomplishment, he was back to irritation. The next level was proving to be more obnoxious than the previous. No obvious targets that would Rube Goldberg the whole set-up and fewer birds with lamer power-ups.

At some point, the cheek on his shoulder blade was replaced with a chin.

A few more attempts flew by, each one worse than the last.

Jason growled in frustration, resisting the (ir)rational urge to chuck his phone out the window and instead scrubbed a hand through his hair. A thought pinged in his brain. He held the phone up to his shoulder, decidedly ignoring the startled twitch at the movement. “Want to give it a go? I’m this close to breaking my phone.”

A beat passed. Two.

“Wouldn’t that…be cheating?” Dick offered, voice strained and stuffy despite his obvious efforts to hide it.

Jason smirked. “Nothing in the rules against help.”

And he could practically feel the weight of the raised eyebrow directed at the back of his neck.

“Hey, what duck boy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I’ll get you those nasty Cheeto fries you like.”

Another beat.

And Jason definitely didn’t smile as the arms around his shoulders reached to gently tug the phone from his hand, nor when the weight behind him shifted to comfortably hold the screen up where they both could see.

It was almost worth losing fifty bucks—the little nerd had installed fingerprint ID into the _whole stinking phone_ as an anti-cheating measure—to watch the tremor leave Dick’s fingers as he…

Passed the level with the very first bird.

“Okay, _what the actual f_ —“

**Author's Note:**

> Did I make up Cheeto fries? I thought I did, but Google says it’s a thing, so no.
> 
> Will I ever do Dick’s POV? Maybe.
> 
> Am I irrationally pleased with myself to have gotten a story out in 2020? Yes. Yes, I am.
> 
> TMI for anyone interested: I revisited Of Milkshakes and Marathons the morning after I wrote the initial 1523 because I’m like…idk if this is right, I’mma check how I wrote Jason’s POV before. I literally cracked up not even halfway in, because apparently “been out of the fandom for a year” me still writes Jason the same as “deep in the Bathole” me. As much as I believe my writing has grown (and regressed) over the years, it’s extremely funny to me how similar the character style is between these two stories.


End file.
